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Ismail Merchant established a pattern of economy in film-making that is reflected in his eating habits. Jul 21, 2001 Arranging to eat with Ismail Merchant is a more complex affair than simply choosing a restaurant. As a native of Bombay, a resident of that city as well as New York, London and Paris, and a film-maker all over the globe, there's the confusing matter of geography to be resolved first. His proposal of lunch at the Jardin des Tuilleries suggests Paris. "No, that's the name of the restaurant," he corrects. "It's in Westmoorings." And Westmoorings is in Trinidad, where I caught the veteran producer of 40 films, including award-winners A Room With a View, Howards End and The Remains of the Day, shooting The Mystic Masseur; the first V.S. Naipaul novel to be adapted for the screen and directed, unusually, by Merchant rather than his long-term collaborator James Ivory. In keeping with his reputation as one of the most unorthodox and unconventional operators in the business, Merchant has bypassed this cosmopolitan island's many smart gastronomic establishments in favour of a charming and unceremonious cafe in a shopping mall conveniently close to his production office. Even at the FT's expense he sees no reason for extravagance: "I don't waste money. I am not one of those grand producers in limousines," he says cheerfully. "You don't need a lot of money to make good films or enjoy good food." As a pioneer of low-budget independent film - "We had no choice; studios weren't interested in the kind of films we wanted to make" - Merchant established a pattern of economy and resourcefulness that has remained in practice through the more prosperous times. Executives at Columbia Pictures are probably still scratching their heads trying to work out how he made The Remains of the Day for Dollars 11.5m ("Our first double-figure budget") when they had found it unworkable at Dollars 36m. An astonishingly youthful and energetic 64-year-old, the Mystic Merchant - as he is affectionately known on this film - shows no signs of fatigue after an all-night shoot which ended at 6am. Exchanging his director's hat for his producer's hat, he went straight from the set to his office, where he will return after lunch, to deal with other business, including the US release of the latest Merchant Ivory film, The Golden Bowl. Later, he will swap hats again to watch the rushes from the previous week's shooting and discuss them with his editor in New York. Though this is officially a rest day for the unit, he will have been working non-stop for 36 hours by the time he eventually gets to bed. "But when you enjoy your work it is not a chore," he explains. "In fact, it gives you even more energy. I find directing especially rewarding because you have the responsibility of bringing the story to life, and it's wonderful to make that happen." This is the fourth film he has directed since his Urdu-language adaptation of Anita Desai's novel In Custody eight years ago. "And how are you today?" he asks of the waitress who seems slightly thrown by his amiable informality. "We shall have some of your delicious fresh fruit punch, please. And what is today's speciality?" The waitress loyally recommends everything on the menu. "I don't think I can eat it all. I may explode," he answers and decides that grilled chicken salad with black olives and walnuts "sounds interesting". The author of four books about food (as well as two books and a number of newspaper articles on film), he is an accomplished cook whose on-set curry parties, where he prepares for his cast and crew Indian food uniquely combined with the native cuisine of whatever country he is in, have become a traditional feature of every Merchant Ivory shoot. The last of the larger-than-life characters that once routinely inhabited the film industry, Merchant adds a vibrant splash of colour to the be-suited grey business that cinema has become, generating legends as formidable as any inspired by Sam Spiegel or Goldwyn. So, how accurate are the Merchant myths? "All true!" he exclaims with a huge, shameless laugh. Really? Even the - how can I put this without provoking litigation - creative accounting? "True!" The explosive temper and wholesale sackings; the superhuman demands; the slave-labour conditions and salaries? Merchant keeps nodding and grinning impishly. "Everything. Of course the stories become exaggerated and embroidered, but . . ." No smoke without fire? "Exactly." For all that, the same names appear again and again on his films - Oscar-winning actors, leading artists and technicians; people, in short, who can pick and choose, pick Merchant Ivory - seduced either by a quality of material thin on the ground elsewhere, or by Merchant's notorious charm under which even the most larcenous agents have crumbled and the fearsome gauleiters of desirable locations have thrown open doors firmly closed to other producers. Asked to explain the qualities that set Merchant Ivory apart from other film-makers he becomes thoughtful. "The understanding, the rapport - professional and personal - we establish with our co-workers. And I don't think any other company allows as much artistic freedom - there is no point in engaging people for their talent and then restricting their contribution." He considers his freewheeling approach to directing particularly encourages that kind of creative collaboration. "Beyond having a sketch in my mind, I don't pre-plan - if you are too rigid then you lose the opportunity of using something exciting or funny or interesting - the unpredictable elements that can occur on the spur of the moment, inspired by the location, the actors, a sudden idea - and I like to take advantage of that." After two decades in the art-house wilderness, a string of unexpected successes introduced his films to a wider audience, and the term "Merchant Ivory" into the language to define a particular English style. That his more recent films have had a cooler reception was, he considers, predictable given that those elevated to the top of Mount Olympus are, inevitably, brought crashing back down to earth. He is not remotely cynical, but he knows how the game works. "You can't worry about such things," he says philosophically. "We have always been committed to a civilised cinema, films that have something to say - and that will never change. "Today, every aspect of making a film is calculated with box office returns in mind. If you think in those terms, you end up with moronic films which underestimate the audience. "Ultimately, people want films that engage them emotionally, intelligently - films they can relate and respond to." That at any moment there are cinemas and television channels around the world showing a Merchant Ivory film he believes speaks for itself. "One of the reasons our strength has grown over the past 40 years is that we have never compromised the artistic integrity of our films for commercial considerations." An admirably unyielding attitude has sometimes led to risky stand-offs with financiers and distributors. But he has never gone for the easy option. "I am a gambler in spirit," he admits. Certainly he has demonstrated a gambler's froideur by breaking every rule in the book - staking his own money on projects, and frequently starting a film without a penny of finance in place. His success against the odds has inspired a generation of young film-makers to take the independent route. The arrival of pear tart and tea coincides with that of Juliet Petit, the handsome, velvet-voiced Trinidadian who owns the cafe. Merchant greets her warmly, inviting her to join us; but then admonishes her for not having visited the set, and persists with his invitation until he extracts her promise to come. "He just doesn't let up until he hears what he wants to hear," says Petit perceptively, waving aside the bill. The FT even has to insist on being allowed to pay. It has often been said of the famously frugal Merchant that he could finance a whole production on the cost of a Hollywood executive's lunch tab - a claim that could never be made of his own lunch bill which barely scrapes above Pounds 10. Or could it? "Not without magic," he says with a glint in his eye, "and I am a magician." |
